The barrier maintenance personnel and I had gone from facing the weakest Gensokyo residents to one of the strongest. We were totally fucked.

Remilia and Sakuya had some of the most broken powers in the entire realm, and Kazami Yuuka had gone toe-to-toe with them while they were working together. We were three human danmaku users without any unique abilities and I was the only one who could fly.

I did have the comms crystal to Patchouli, at least. I tried to remain calm. The strategy here could not be combat. It had to be placation.

“Do you like protein bars?” I asked Yuuka. She snorted.

“No, I prefer good-old-fashioned sunlight and water,” she said.

“Ah,” I said. I glanced at the winter sky, then down at the boxcar that was hiding my allies. “I’ve got little to offer you right now, then.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. Seeing as it’s winter, I’ve been craving something with a bit more… substance.”

“I–”

“A moment if you please.”

She darted forward and caught my communications crystal in her hand. Then she crunched it to dust, severing Patchouli’s view on the situation and interrupting her ability to help me.

“Do you have any more of those crystals?” asked Yuuka. “I heard that you like to carry a few spares.”

“I–I left my bag at home. That was my only one.”

It was true; I had no extra crystals, because I’d been in a hurry. In my defense, I’d only expected to fight fairies. Even as I thought it I knew it was a weak excuse.

“Then please continue,” she said as she shook her palm free of rock dust.

Why did she believe me? Was it because she was thousands of years old and could smell a lie a mile away? Was it because of the unspoken certainty she could kill me, making her believe I wouldn’t dare to lie? I was willing to bet her subordinates were afraid to lie to her.

Yuuka hovered about ten feet away from me, a bit further than before, but she was fast enough that it was like her hands were resting around the base of my neck.

“Will a danmaku battle satisfy you?” I asked.

“That depends on whether I win or not,” she said. She looked me up and down. “So yes. I think it will.” This was good; I could offer some danmaku in lieu of my life.

“Let us fight, then,” I said. Politeness would involve discussing one’s goals or desires before fighting. “What will you compel if you win?”

“If?” she asked. “I don’t want to tell you.” That was rude, but what was I going to do?

“That makes things difficult,” I said.

“What’s the matter? You don’t like surprises?” I really didn’t, I realized. Not from youkai. I also hated being compelled in general.

“I just want to know the level of compulsion I should inflict in turn, if I win,” I said as I took deep breaths. There was no room for pride, here. “I would only ask that you go away, but if you’re going to compel me to… do something I really dislike, maybe I should compel something of similar magnitude?”

She stared at me. Then she laughed.

“Such an oblique and toothless threat,” she said. She touched her chin with her first finger. “I do admire it. You are making threats. You’ve gotten stronger, Mister Thorne.” Yuuka drifted a bit further back and twirled her parasol. “For example… I know your name, now.”

“I have been making a small name for myself,” I said.

“I like it. Thorne. Underfoot and a pain. Like a cactus, you’re green and stolid and slow-growing, but still dangerous to the ignorant or careless.”

I didn’t know how to respond. For some reason the idea of a dangerous cactus was unsettling to me.

“I can taste the fear of a couple of humans down there,” she went on. Kazami Yuuka snapped her parasol shut. “I don’t want a large prize. I will concede that last time we met, I was being greedy and demonstrative.”

“I tend to agree,” I said, “but that’s in the past.” I was being diplomatic. Her allies had killed two humans and eaten one of them last time. They’d been planning to kill five before we’d arranged a rescue.

If my crystal hadn’t been destroyed, I’d be calling for help. Perhaps Patchouli would infer that I needed it. I realized I had more than one option to call for backup, but I had to use my second trick at the right time, when Yuuka wouldn’t intercept.

“This time it’s about survival,” said Yuuka. “I’ll settle for a single human sacrifice. Just one person, so that me and my friends don’t have to starve. Is that too much to ask for?”

“If you’re going to kill them, I’m afraid so,” I said.

She ignored my unspoken question. “I’ll tell you what. When I win, I’ll ask you whether to take you back to the Garden of the Sun, or one of them, or if I should just destroy this little gift train so that you can appreciate how I feel.”

My heart was pounding in my chest; the protein bars were the only thing between Human Town and mass starvation. I had to protect them, even more than my allies. “Humans need to survive if youkai are going to survive,” I said.

“Yeah, but not four thousand humans,” she responded. “And can’t you eat each other, or something? I thought I’d heard of humans doing that.”

“What will happen at the Garden of the Sun?” I asked. If she just wanted to chat, we could skip the fight. If she wanted to subject me to a haunted house or other scare tactics to feed… well, I would try to bear it.

“Nothing,” she said, her voice idle and pleasant. She smiled, making me shiver. “Not until springtime. Then, when the first flowers sprout, I will drive wooden stakes through your fingernails, sensory organs, and orifices until you perish.”

“I’ve no interest in becoming a kabob.”

Her smile did not falter. “Or I’ll cut off your legs and put you in a large vessel of water, and see how long it takes for rot to kill you.”

“That’s–”

“Having multiple things to anticipate should make you a productive crop indeed.” She licked her lips. “I’ll make up something new every day, and whichever is the scariest–we’ll ultimately do that one. And no matter how much you try not to think about it, we’ll know. We’ll be able to taste the best idea, right up until the end.”

“The compulsion would fail before you finished,” I said. I tried to still my heart. This youkai fed on fear; she might say awful things, even if she didn’t mean them.

“I’m counting on it,” she said with a nod. “You can be staked to the ground, compelled or not. Tethered. Planted. A willing victim is less fearful anyway.”I grit my teeth. She really had a thing for plants.

The worst part was that altogether the strategy seemed well-reasoned. Psychologically torturing someone for months would allow you to wring out as much fear as possible, even if you never laid a hand on them. Yuuka was following a pattern I’d seen a few times; a threat, but the delivery of the threat was always in the future or uncertain or possibly escapable.

Youkai hated certainty because it would lead to hopelessness, and only humans that still hoped still feared.

I was trying not to get mad at her for inflicting this on me.

“I cannot accept this offer,” I said. “And if you are going to act like that, in turn I will compel you to leave Gensokyo.”

That was a death sentence for a youkai. Hopefully she took my secondary meaning, which was that if she backed off I would as well–she didn’t have to do this.

“You don’t have to do this,” I added for good measure. “I’d rather not send you away.”

“No, but I do want to take one of you with me,” she said, floating even further back.

Yuuka had no reason to be afraid of me carrying out my threat. I was too weak.

“I accept the terms,” she said, “you servant of vampires. Will you open fire, or will you force me to make the opening move?” I hesitated, but only for a few seconds.

“Conviction Mines!” I shouted. My starbursts were many and dense. Right now, more than ever, I was protecting humans and Human Town.

I still needed to call for help. Reimu was guarding the village, and Marisa was asleep and a thieving witch anyway. I felt uncomfortable calling for Sanae, because her goddess was already supplying me with power. I couldn’t rely on them too much or I’d become indebted.

Yuuka spun and absorbed one of my mines. I took the opportunity to throw my hat past her and toward a different heroine. It took off toward the human village–a good direction. I prayed it would fly far enough.

“Delicious,” said Yuuka. “Isn’t the first part of that card’s name ‘Youkai Offering’?”

“Yes, but I’ve gotten faster,” I said.

“Or more impatient.”

Yuuka was just wrong. For spell cards, a shorter name would make the card more useful, if more difficult to activate. That I could say so little to trigger it was proof of my skill. Very few danmaku users could get their spell cards shortened so much that they could make a simple sound, or a single gesture, or simply release the spell card at will.

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

Yuuka wordlessly swept my mines and blasted me with a Master Spark or something just like it. It was an attack I was starting to hate. The beam of light didn’t break my will immediately, so I continued to hit her with vectors.

–

It took about three minutes for Yuuka to defeat me. That wasn’t because I was that good; she was just fucking with me for as long as possible while eating my danmaku. Her expression became more subdued as the fight went on. Maybe my genuine concern was reaching her. Maybe she was starting to sympathize a little bit with the idea that humans should be protected.

I hit her with Akiba Summer and I could tell that was the moment she decided to stop screwing around. Yuuka blasted me with several beams of light in quick succession. I settled onto the train car, out of breath and despairing, but the compulsion prevented my sorrow from overwhelming me.

Yuuka wanted me to choose what to sacrifice: myself, the humans below, or the protein needed by Human Town. She even wanted me to take the question seriously.

I went after it with the gusto of a compelled human. I had to think about it for a minute.

My nature was to sacrifice myself. This wasn’t from some inner goodness or heroism–not exactly. I just couldn’t imagine living with myself after letting someone die in my place. It would taint my existence. Every time I did anything, I’d think of the fact that I got to do it only because I’d done something wrong to someone else.

That was pride, or perhaps cowardice. A braver person might have the conviction that they could ‘make up for it’ by being extra bonus good, later. They might be so assured of their own worth that they would tearfully let someone else perish. ‘Yes, I let someone die for me. But every day I live for them and what they stood for.’ Or something.

But that wouldn’t work for me, because I knew that even if someone were to give their life to save my own, I’d live the exact same way as before.

You shouldn't wait for some personal tragedy to start doing good, right? Batman only became a hero because his parents were murdered, but wouldn’t it make more sense to be a hero just because it was the right thing to do? How many Batmans would exist if people started trying to be heroes without tragedy to motivate them?

Batman was a bad example. There were better ways to be a hero.

It didn’t matter, because I’d decided to try to be heroic a long time before, without excuses like ‘oh, if only a tragedy would happen to me and make me a hero.’ I didn’t wait for spiders or to find out I was an alien, I didn’t wait until I was wealthy or the time was right.

If someone died for me, I’d keep living, but I wouldn’t live any differently. Paradoxically, I therefore couldn’t honor someone’s sacrifice. I thought of Maroon and my heart fell. No wonder it was so hard to manifest her again. I thought I was doing the expeditions for her… but without that incentive, I’d probably be doing the mission anyway.

On the other hand, I was starting to see Byakuren and Patchouli’s perspective regarding heroism. If I died to save one of the barrier personnel, I’d be failing at every other task I’d set for myself, some of which had many lives at stake.

(Letting Yuuka destroy the protein bars was simply not an option for that reason. Four thousand lives were worth more than any of us there. I also wouldn’t lie to myself and pin my hopes on other magical food arriving in time. There’s a joke about a man trapped in a flood, who turns away boats while claiming that God will save him, until the floodwaters rise and drown him instead. When he meets God, God asks why he didn’t take a boat.)

From a utilitarian perspective…

I was more skilled at danmaku, so I was a more useful human for Human Town. I was also the only peaceful point of contact between the Human Council and the Youkai Rebellion. I was important, whether I liked it or not: dying here, however nobly, would not be the best thing for Human Town.

I had just about argued myself into letting someone go to be tortured in my place and hating myself forever, before I remembered one last thing. Yuuka had promised me that the torturous death would occur in the spring.

I was important, wasn’t I? Not just to me, either.

A few months would give time for Remilia to come back from Makai and save me. I wasn’t technically under her protection, but she might decide to help me anyway because my notebook was her last connection to Sakuya. She’d be pissed, but she would probably do it.

If not her, there was Suwako, Patchouli, my roommates, or perhaps Sekibanki who could come to save me. Maybe Yukari would be back by then and intervene. Maybe the humans who hadn’t starved would mount a rescue mission.

Enough powerful forces in Gensokyo liked me that I could reasonably expect to be saved. If I sent a nameless barrier personnel member… those powerful forces wouldn’t have much incentive to save him. Gandhi resisted British occupation, and when he became famous, he became more obligated to resist, because they couldn’t very well make him a martyr.

(They probably could have, said a nagging doubt in my mind, but that was a doubt I was comfortable ignoring.)

So really, it had to be me, just because I was the most likely to survive. It did feel bad to impose a rescue mission on others, but I precommitted myself to forgiving them if they decided I wasn’t worth it. That dealt with any reservations I had.

It felt good to know what to do, and to know that people cared enough about me to allow me to do it. I would act in accordance with my nature after all.

“Myself,” I told Yuuka. She chuckled.

“It took you an awful long time to decide, for someone who supposedly has the protection of a vampire.” My fear spiked, and I was certain she tasted it. “An interesting choice anyway. Do you love the other humans that much?”

“Love?” I said. I didn’t think of a human. “No. I’m just doing what’s right.”

“And you think it’s right to sacrifice yourself.” I’d been compelled to choose, not to explain my logic, so I said nothing. “You are almost unafraid right now. You feel conviction. Certainty about helping your allies at great cost to yourself.”

“I do,” I said.

“How admirable. But still, you feel very little fear.”

“Acceptance is like that,” I said. “Fear is good for a little bit. It gets you to think or act fast. But outside of an emergency it’s no longer useful, and reasoned thought is the better driver of action.”

She laughed at my calm description of fear.

“To you, maybe,” she said. “Fear is useful to me. I’m taking one of them instead.”

“Wait,” I said. I tried to stand but Kazami Yuuka hit me with a single danmaku bullet that compelled me to step aside.

“As much as I’d like to eat you as a matter of principle, defiant human, I need something that will give me a real meal.”

With an immense screeching tear, Yuuka ripped the boxcar door off and threw it to the side. It whumped where it landed in the snow. The sunflower youkai looked down at the two barrier maintenance personnel, who were huddled on either side of Maribel. With a sickening lurch in my stomach I knew what would happen right before it did.

The two others shot Yuuka with orange and blue danmaku. She shot them back with beams of light from each hand and defeated them.

Maribel didn’t move an inch. The youkai stared down at her, undoubtedly realizing that the college student couldn’t even use danmaku. Maribel was all-but-powerless and without rights in Gensokyo. She was unfamiliar with Touhou, despite her name. She was fresh meat, and perfect for terrorizing. The green-haired youkai frowned down at her, her red eyes narrowing.

Maribel Hearn looked back up at Yuuka.There was a moment of silence. Yuuka thought for several seconds more.

“Nevermind,” said Yuuka. She flew away without another word.

I stood there, mouth agape, for about ten seconds. Ten seconds is an extraordinarily long time to be confused beyond words. It felt like five minutes. It felt like an eternity. I looked around, in case it was a cruel joke and another youkai of the rebellion would leap out and take her, but we were alone.

“What the fuck?” I asked Maribel. She shrugged up at me. “How?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “I want to say ‘I wasn’t afraid,’ but that would be a lie.” She rubbed the back of her head. “I was excited, too? Curious maybe?”

“I don’t think that would save you.” I said. I swallowed. I could think of exactly one reason why Yuuka might hesitate to kill Maribel.

–

Nazrin showed up with a crystal (or three) of her own. I thanked her, and gave her some open protein bars as a reward. I understood why Patchouli herself hadn’t come after me: she’d almost died dealing with a cave troll, and Yuuka was a level (or three) above that. I was surprised that Nazrin had gone in her place, though.

“You’re ‘ucky ’m ‘ere,” said Nazrin as she chewed through the protein bar. “Don’t ‘isunderstan’. I wa’n’t going to figh’ for you.”

“I know,” I said as the crystal moved from her to me. “But reestablishing comms is good, too.”

She swallowed. Then she bent over and scooped up some snow to eat.

“How did you survive?” asked Patchouli over the crystal connection.

“I don’t know,” I said. “Yuuka changed her mind and left.” I briefly explained what she had wanted, and what had transpired. “Thank you for sending backup.”

“I worried I was sending a cleanup crew,” said Patchouli. I looked down at the protein bars.

“You can help us move them,” I told Nazrin, who was still munching on snow and protein. “As long as you don’t steal too many.”

“I was going to look for a savior,” said the mouse youkai. She pulled out her dowsing rods. “But I realized halfway through that they were already here, or already on their way, so I decided to hurry instead. Looks like I beat them here after all?” Her dowsing rods pointed roughly toward the village.

“Looks like it,” I said.

I looked down at Maribel. The blonde student was sorting boxes with the others, but she had gotten distracted by one of the labels.

“Hey. Can you try locating Yakumo Yukari again, real quick?” I asked Nazrin.

“Sure.” She held out her dowsing rods. “Nope. Still on another plane.”

“Hmm,” I said.

A moment later Konpaku Youmu showed up and asked where the threat was. She had my hat. I’d written “Please return to Mister Jake Thorne, and come to save him if this hat was flying when you found it.” I was pragmatic (and I’d used it that way once before, with Satori).

“Was it difficult to find us?” I asked her. It was the gentlest way I could ask why she hadn’t gotten there sooner.

“I followed the hat,” said Youmu. “It eventually hit the ground, so I had to guess.” My hat’s range was still getting better, I wrote in the notebook, but not infinite. “How can I help?”

I didn’t want to hurt her feelings by telling her she was too late, so I told her she was there in time to protect the barrier maintenance personnel and the retrieval crew while they gathered the protein bars. Youmu took this in stride, and stood guard with a seriousness that I admired even as other thoughts churned in the back of my mind. The retrieval crew was visible in the distance.

“I’ll have to work at Hakugyokurou again,” said Arnold when he returned. He was looking at Youmu, who gave him a polite nod. He’d brought a contingent of humans with carts to haul away the protein bars. They were filling them with the packages that survived, and eating some of the open packs as they went.

“Again?” I asked. “You’ve been there before?” Hakugyokurou was where Youmu and Lady Saigyouji lived. He’d talked about trading labor for enlightenment there, but I didn’t know if he’d ever followed up. They’d wanted him to cook dinner for them.

“You aren’t the only person who tries to use his days effectively,” said Arnold. “Like one of three, I’d say.”

“So that’s why you are so well–” fed, I didn’t finish. The workers were loading up the carts. I didn’t want them to be jealous, or to start making demands about what was likely an undersized store of food. Then again, Saigyouji Yuyuko was supposed to have a paranormal appetite.

“Yeah…” he said, rubbing his head. “They work me hard for it, though.”

“You do the cooking?” I asked.

“Among other things,” he said, not meeting my eyes. I decided to let that sleeping dog lie. I was willing to bet that they’d told him to keep any feasts secret, given the food situation in Gensokyo. And if Lady Saigyouji were testing how corporeal she could become, she probably wanted that to be a secret too.

“Have you told Wiki about their goods?” I asked.

“No!” he said, with an expression of mock scandal.

“I meant food.”

“Oh. I have, and no, it isn’t big enough to make much of a difference.” He gestured at the boxcar that was being emptied. “At least we’ve got this!”

With Youmu standing guard, I went to help the workers load up. Maribel smiled at me, and pointed to a single crate of sweet snacks that had been at the back of the railcar. I smiled in return, but I was still flummoxed.

There was one reason why Yuuka might spare Maribel that I could think of. One that Wiki and I had discarded weeks earlier, shortly after Maribel had first appeared in Gensokyo.

Maribel had claimed to be a normal student. Renko had claimed the same. They were named after Touhou characters, but they hadn’t known each other or known that Gensokyo was a real place. There was no Secret Sealing Club. Their powers were ordinary observation. And yet…

Maribel and Renko did have lore, in which they crossed between worlds and met youkai. In which they may have been youkai themselves.

It had never been confirmed in the lore, but in the fandom at least, Yukari Yakumo and Maribel Hearn were the same person.